


Of Lullaby's and Figurines

by SennexTheAssasinKingOfLight



Series: They Go Together. [3]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Attempted Sexual Assault, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Geralt likes Jaskier's singing, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Being an Asshole, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Uses His Words, Grief, He is trying not to be, M/M, Not Beta Read, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Sharing a Bed, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Soft Jaskier | Dandelion, scared Jaskier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-01
Updated: 2020-02-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:53:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22488973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SennexTheAssasinKingOfLight/pseuds/SennexTheAssasinKingOfLight
Summary: The day after Jaskier is attacked while Geralt is hunting a Bruxa, he sings a lullaby that stirs something in Geralt.Geralt dwells on his childhood.He opens up to Jaskier, barely.Jaskier teaches him a new lullaby.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: They Go Together. [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1624777
Comments: 50
Kudos: 394
Collections: Interesting Character and/or Interesting Relationship Development





	Of Lullaby's and Figurines

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JustGettingBy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustGettingBy/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Sed Non Obligant](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22245220) by [JustGettingBy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustGettingBy/pseuds/JustGettingBy). 



> This fic takes place after my first two in this world. You don't need to read them for this to make sense, but it would help with understanding why I wrote them this way. 
> 
> This story was inspired after reading the Per Aspera, Ad Astra series by JustGettingBy, specifically after reading Sed Non Obligant, Geralts story. found here:https://archiveofourown.org/works/22245220/chapters/53117329
> 
> The first lullaby Jaskier sings is the lullaby mentioned in the above fic is found here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6iCklc-j04M
> 
> As I have said, I've only seen the TV show and parts of the Wild Hunt. 
> 
> The lullaby at the end can be found on Youtube at:https://youtu.be/70VlAyEUXYM  
> It's titled "The Wanderers Lullaby" it was written and performed by Adriana Figueroa. I just love it so much and it fit so well.

Jaskier

They still get strange looks, especially in small villages when they ask for a room with a double bed. They don’t do it often, but after the close call earlier he really, really wants to be as close to Geralt as he can. He knows Geralt heard him ask for a double bed. The innkeeper sighed. Money is money and business is business and it’s late. The men can do as they please. Not that he thinks they’ll be doing much with the shape the one in front of him is in. Jaskier smiles as he takes the key, it tugs on his lip, but it doesn’t bleed again. He casts Geralt a false attempt at a large grin as he sits across the table, back to the room. He’ll perform in a bit, maybe. It won’t be a long performance tonight, just enough for a bit of coin. He slides the key across the table, Geralt takes it silently. There’s exhaustion in his face, in the way he sips his ale and his eyes a little less vivid. Jaskier knows he looks about the same, worse probably. 

He doesn’t perform.

They walk slowly to their room. He should tend his lute. He doesn’t. He barely strips his outer shirt and boots off. Geralt does the same, the bare minimum. They fall into a tangle of limbs Jaskier pressing close, entangling them. Geralt huffs beside him. Jaskier thinks the larger man doesn’t want the contact. Still, he doesn’t get pushed away. He can’t help himself. He doesn’t want sex, not at the moment. Just the warmth of a body next to him. Not just any body though. The one beside him now, half buried. Geralt. The one person he knows means complete and total safety. He’s still shaken to his core. 

A few hours earlier: Jaskier

Nothing had happened. (It had.) Not really. ( Really.) It had just been a very, very close call. He’d been tending the fire, not playing his lute. Geralt had been clear about that. He shouldn’t have had a fire either, but it would also work as protection thus the witcher had allowed it. The Witcher was deep in the woods hunting a Bruxa that was living in a cave a little distance from the village— which is where Jaskier should have been. According to the hunter it was rare to find one in a cave, but it was there none-the-less. The bard was here because he had insisted that if anything had happened he wanted to be close by to help Geralt. He’d only huffed in annoyance but reluctantly agreed. He was talking lightly with Roach while they waited.

“Look at this, a pretty little bard out in the dark all by his lonesome.” A rough, voice says.

Jaskiers spine goes straight. He turned slowly. 

“Hello gentlemen.” He swallowed. “Nice night for a ballad.” 

“Oh I’ll say.” The shorter of the two said glinting eyes openly raking over Jaskier and hovering around his crotch. He knows what they want, what they’re going to attempt.  
“Little songbird, do you have any friends?”  
“I do.” He says, and fails to put any fierceness into his voice. His throat constricting. He could yell for Geralt, scream for him and he’d come. He knows this. But, it could put the witcher in danger of falling victim to the bruxa so he bites his tongue, drawing his own blood. 

“Where are they?”  
“Relieving themselves. Be back rather soon I think.” He lies through his teeth, careful not to let them know how many people are with him. Roach knickers and rears, Jaskier steps forward and turns toward her,  
“Roach!” 

“Here’s the thing,” A voice said harshly against his ear, “ this campsite looks set for two, and we watched the big one stalk off a bit ago. You’re all alone with us.” He struggles against the hands now holding his arms behind his back. He swallows down the bile rising in his throat at the mans breath and the reality of what’s happening.  
“Stop squirming!” Another man grabs his hair roughly by the roots. There are three of them. He glares daggers at the man in front of him. The other is off to the side tying Roach up to a tree. He’s unfortunately smart enough to not let her go loose. Jaskier composes himself.  
“Why don’t you just take our coin instead.”  
“He’s funny. Thinks we just want coin.” The one now walking towards him from Roach says.  
“Were going to take that anyways, bardling.” The one holding him says. He stiffens. Panic is rising like bile in his throat, only this is bursting through the dam. He opens his mouth and nothing comes out.  
“Look at that, he’s got his pretty little mouth open and nothing to say.” The one directly in front of him says, moving his hand from Jaskiers hair to trace his lips. He tries to recoil. There’s nowhere to go. Promptly he closes his mouth and clenches his teeth.  
“Since, I’m in charge,” the one that had tied Roach up says, “ I think I’ll take him first.”  
The one directly in front of him smiles.  
“Just make sure you don’t leave him to sloppy for seconds.”  
“Or thirds, and maybe by then, he’ll have something better to do with his mouth.” The man behind him says, his cock brushing against Jaskier through clothes. ‘Scream’ he tells himself. Nothing comes out. The leader takes charge.  
“Tie him up already. I know that's fun for you and all, but you’ll be in my way.”  
Jaksier fights, he kicks, and pulls his arms partially free. He’s backhanded and feels his lip split. The side of his face throbs. It’s followed by a punch to his gut has him doubling over, it’s nowhere near as bad as when Geralt had punched him that first day, but somehow it’s overwhelming. He feels his knees hit the ground. His back is to the fire. There’s a gag in his mouth before he regains enough air to scream. Tears form in the corners of his eyes. He struggles still kicking out. One of the men grabbed his shoulders forcing his face into the dirt. 

There’s a sound like a woman screaming in the distance. He feels someone trying to tug at his trousers. He will not cry. He will not cry. He yells as best he can through the gag. 

A few hours earlier: Geralt

Geralt has just finished dispatching the bruxa when he hears it. His name. Its muffled. It must be Jaskier. But why is it muffled. He strains his hearing, it had been just barely there, he was far enough away, he shouldn’t have heard it at all. There’s something wrong, his gut tells him. There's a moment's hesitation where he considers if the bruxa has anything valuable, more important than figuring out why Jaskier is yelling. There isn’t. He turns and runs back towards the camp. He’s grateful that the potion from earlier is still strong in his veins. He dodges branches and trees. The closer he gets the more he can hear. There’s a struggle going on. He pushes himself faster. ‘What the hells going on?’ running like a mantra through his head right alongside ‘ Dammit Jaskier.’ Fury pools in his stomach, his heart beating slow and steady in his chest. His eyes are black pits and he can see clearly. “Fuck.” He exhales ears picking up the conversation.  
“There, hold him down.” Jaskier is struggling, keeping his knees close to his chest, trying to roll away. Trying to get his feet under him. 

“Come on bardling let us have some fun.” Says the one who has renewed his hold on Jaskiers shoulders and is controlling him by his hair. Jaskier wimpers through the gag. He’s looking at the ground, eyes squeezed shut. He reeks of fear, and not for the first time, Geralt hates the way it clings to him. His flower, should not feel fear. In fact, it speaks to his state the man can literally watch Geralt kill anything and have it come within inches of him and not smell anything like fear at all. 

“Get his pant’s off already or I’ll cut them open.” Spits the leader. His own pants already open. 

He runs faster. Jaskier doesn’t whimper now, he doesn’t cry, he doesn’t even yell. Geralt doesn’t know if its resignation or if he knows he’s there. It doesn’t matter. He doesn’t even hesitate, the need to protect Jaskier, driving him forward. 

In one motion he severs the head of the man holding the bard down. Pushing the body away from Jaskier he lunges, thrusting his sword through the heart of the leader that’s still trying to figure out what’s happening. He pushes that body away too. The third man is already running as fast as his legs would carry him. It’s not fast enough. Geralt slices open his leg, he stumbles to his knees and his throat is cut to the bone in a series of hurricane movements. Quickly, Geralt looks around the area, his enhanced eyes see nothing. His ears pick up the rabbit quick beat of Jaskier’s heart and his distressed breathing. He moves to his side. 

“Jaskier.” It’s rougher than he wanted. No response, Jaskier is still curled up, hands tightly bound behind his back, Geralt guesses they’ve gone numb.  
“Jaskier.” Still nothing. He lays a hand tentatively on his shoulder, the bard flinches and tries to get away. Quickly he cuts the binds. Jaskier pulls further away grabbing at the gag in his mouth with uncooperative hands, trying to get back to his feet. He’s fumbling so Geralt reaches out and does that too. Still from behind he realizes too late. Jaskiers already moving quickly away. Adrenaline is all that’s pushing him.  
“Dandelion.” He calls and the bard freezes. He turns, and recognition flits through his eyes, and he just stands there, breathing hard. Geralt hesitates for a moment, unsure what to say or do, remembering the way his face looks, that he’s covered in blood, that there are bodies strewn around them. Then arms are around him and, oh, Jaskier is crying. No, not crying, sobbing. Geralt falters. Eventually he puts his hand on Jaskiers back and pulls him close. He ease’s them to the ground. Jaskier’s legs are shaking.  
“Geralt.” The choked sob comes out. He doesn’t know what to do or say so he settles with,  
“Im here.”  
“I'm sorry. I- im so sorry. I wanted to yell before they gagged me but nothing would come out. Then I was afraid if I yelled you’d get —”  
“Jaskier. Stop.” He feels the bard swallow and hold on to him tighter.  
“This…” He swallows, it’s really his fault. The bard should have been safe at an inn playing his lute.  
“This isn’t your fault.” 

Present: Jaskier

Jaskier starts to hum as they lay there in the dark. Geralt doesn’t reciprocate all of the touch, just enough to let Jaskier know he’s still there. Sleep tugs at them but neither is quite able to succumb to her embrace. The hum is low in his throat and vibrates through his chest. An archaic lullaby he had heard once, one that was older than his grandmother. He had liked it, so he had learned it. Now though, his tired mind can’t find all the lyrics. Instead he hums the melody softly into the night. 

Geralt goes rigid beneath him.  
“Stop.” The word is harsh. It’s painful to the ear and comes from deep inside Geralt. It’s low and threatening. Jaskier opens his mouth to speak and clamps it shut. He swallows. He’s not afraid, but shock washes over him. Geralt has told him to shut up plenty. To be quiet. But this...This is different, instinctual and he wonders if the Witcher even realizes it. There’s more power in this one word than Jaskier thinks he’s heard from Geralt before. He starts speaking voice low, gentle. Careful. It’s been a long night, they’re both exhausted and he doesn’t want to make it worse.  
“ G—“  
“ Don’t.” Jaskier straightens.  
“Wh—“  
“No.” It venomous. The Witchers voice angry in a way Jaskier has never had directed at him, except on the mountain.  
Powerful arms move him away unkindly but with no real force behind them. Jaskier is grateful, because it means Geralt is thinking, knows he needs to be mindful. Geralt is sitting on the edge of the bed his back to Jaskier.  
He sits up as silent as possible. Concern and confusion on his unseen features. He watches as Geralt runs a hand through tangled hair. He doesn’t say anything. They sit in silence until Geralt says,  
“Go to sleep Jaskier.” In a closed off voice, tight like he might be trying not to cry, or let anger spew without reason. Concern turns to full worry running circles in Jaskiers stomach. He sits up further, no longer leaning on his arm. He leans forward, brushing the fingers of his other hand on Geralt's shoulder. He waits, hand hovering unsure if Geralt wants this or will even allow it. He shifts forward, further out of reach and Jaskier pulls his hand away like he’s been burned. It hurts. He knows this is what he signed up for. Quiet nights, few words from the other, sex. Lots of sex. But this, nights where Geralt won’t even look at him, won’t even acknowledge he’s there, they sting like icy hands warming up after being outside too long. It’s a throbbing pain that runs through his entire body. He watches broad shoulders and even breathing hidden behind black cloth for a moment more. Finally, he lies back. There won’t be conversation about this. Tomorrow they’ll pretend it didn’t happen, whatever it is, probably all of tonight's events. He lets out a long breath, the only real sound in the quiet of their room. There isn’t anymore tears for his body to cry. He wants to, but they aren't there so he swallows against the lump in his htroat, and hopes the stinging in his eyes will go away. He rolls over his back to Geralt and says, 

“ It was only a lullaby.” 

Geralt 

He clenches his teeth tight. Jaskiers voice sounded so hurt. It unsettled him. The bard is right. It is only a lullaby. But it’s also ...not. It’s old enough he didn’t know anyone still knew it. He really shouldn’t be surprised about what Jaskier does and doesn’t know. He’s rather intelligent, at least when it comes to his trade and lullabies are part of his trade. He doesn’t move until he hears Jaskiers breathing settle. He doesn’t want to startle him. It’s been a very long night. Carefully, he lifts himself off the bed, the fire has burned down to embers like molten asteroids dotting the atmosphere. They burn hot and angry, like him, he thinks. He’s angry, furious not at the bard. It’s not his fault. He was trying to help just now. He’s learning to determine where his anger is rooted. That’s the problem with travel companions and bed mates, they can’t stand “senseless brooding.” It everything: the danger Jaskier had been in, that he’d only just manage to stop it, the lullaby the bard had hummed. He sits heavily in the chair nearest the fire, fingers twitching towards one of his bags. 

He frowns, his self discipline disintegrating like stone to dust. He lifts the bag more roughly than intended and removes the contents. It sits to the side on the table and he forces himself to gingerly unwraps the leather bound parcels. It’s idiotic he knows for him to have these still. He’s a man, a Witcher. He’s not sure how old he really is anymore. He could figure it out if he wanted. He looks over the worn figurines. There is no reason for him to hold on to these toys. Except, they’re all that’s left of his humanity, of his childhood. A knight and a dragon. The dye they'd been painted with nearly completely worn off from age. He thinks without his enhanced sight he wouldn’t see the color at all. Or maybe, it’s just his memory that lets him see it. He fingers the dragons wings, splintered and broken from years of wear. The knight's sword is broken. It’s been a while since he held them. And here by the fire seated in the dark he feels foolish for still having them. He doesn’t put them down; instead he swallows around the tightness in his throat, tries to calm the rage boiling inside him. He should meditate. He doesn’t. 

He remembers the last time he had heard that lullaby. It’s crystal clear in his mind. His mother had said they were taking a small trip tomorrow. It was his bed time and he asked her to please sing it. She had. And then she had left him in the dark for the night. The next morning he had eaten breakfast, and then as a second thought he had grabbed his friends. The only friends he had in the entire village. He had them with him now, because and only because they were in the bag she had left with him. He’d never let Vesemir see them but he knows his teacher had known about them. It was a small mercy afforded him that they hadn’t been destroyed when he got to Kaer Morhen. 

He shakes his head. He doesn’t know how long he sat there trying to avoid the thoughts in his mind. The thoughts press around him in the darkening room. He glances over his shoulder at the sleeping bard. He should go back to sleep. At least try to anyways. He sighs. Jaskier would want an apology or an explanation in the morning. Probably both. He growls low in his throat and grips the dragon tighter then he means to and hears the wing snap.

“ Dammit.” 

It’s it far louder than intended. It shouldn’t have come out at all and he hears the bard stir. He drags a hand over his face.

“ Fuck.” 

“Geralt?” It’s painfully quiet. 

Jaskier

He’s cautious as he approaches. He’s wide awake and remembers they’re conversation. He watches Geralt slump in the chair. He stops just behind him, a moment of uncertainty.  
He breathes out and puts his hands on the Witcher’s shoulders. He squeezes gently and he feels the slightest bit of tension leave. He doesn’t speak. Not to be petty, he wants to be, he’s still upset that Geralt won’t share; but, there is a heaviness he can feel and even taste in the air. He leans down and kisses the top of the Witcher’s head. ‘I’m here’ the actions says, it’s meant to be reassuring. He studies the scene over top of Geralt's head. He cocks his head, brows furrowed. There’s a little figurine on the table. A knight with a broken sword. It’s very, very old and well used. Geralt leans forward under his touch and places the now broken dragon beside him.  
It’s sentimental and sweet Jaskier thinks. He wonders how he hasn’t seen these before. His voice breaks the silence, as quiet as a morning dove.  
“oh…. I didn’t…consider...”  
Geralt snorts.  
“ You’ve never had a reason too.” It’s not bitter, nor angry, just a flat statement of fact.  
Jaskier moves around him then and elegantly sits on his lap. He can see Geralt and the table from here. He feels Geralt instinctively put an arm around his hip effectively securing him in place. He has an arm around the Witcher’s neck, his other hand rests simply on his sternum, thumb running soothing circles. The fire is almost out and moonlight is streaming into the room. It’s poetic. Maybe he’ll write something, just for them. 

“ You don’t have to tell me anything. But I’m here if you want to.” 

“Hmmm”

They sit there in silence.Warmth between them and darkness around them. Finally, finally, Geralt speaks slowly. His voice low, quiet, like he’s recalling something difficult. When he speaks Jaskier knows it is. 

Geralt

“These were mine, Dandelion.” He clears his throat, “ When I was a child. My mother used to sing that lullaby to me before I slept.” He stops there. 

Jaskiers voice is a somber breath ghosting against his cheek.  
“ Before...you became a Witcher?”  
“ Yes.”  
“ It must be painful. Your parents dead long before you.” Geralt shakes his head.  
“ I never knew my father. He was dead before I was born. My mother….she’s…. she’s a sorceress.”  
He can feel Jaskier tense against him. Likely he’s drawing a connection between that and his interest in Yennefer. Hell, he just had.  
“She left me alone in the middle of the woods as a child, for Vesemir to find.”  
“She left you…in the woods….. to become a Witcher.” Jaskier seems to choke on his words and Geralt tenses, thinking of the Djinn. He forces himself to relax his grip.  
“Mmm” He doesn’t want to talk about this anymore, hadn’t wanted to to begin with.  
“And she’s still alive?” He hesitates taking a deep breath and letting it out tiredly.  
“ I assume so.”  
“Well I hope we never run into her because I have nothing kind to say. Well maybe thank you, since I get to have you… but nothing else even close to kind. Not at all. I probably won’t actually say thank you. What kind of.. ” Jaskier states quickly voice trailing off as he studies his face. His voice is laced with sincerity and deep rooted conviction. There is something more in his voice, ‘loyalty’ Geralt's brain suggests. He feels a coolness moving through him quenching the rage inside him. 

Jaskier

He’s surprised when Geralt's other hand finds his cheek and he’s kissed with a gentleness that is found nowhere else in the Witcher’s body, least of all his eyes.  
He keeps the kiss tender and chaste even as Geralt's fingers find his hair.  
He pulls away with a little hiss, the hair in that spot tender. He lets their noses bump.  
He stares into aged eyes of liquid amber, sighs,  
“We need to sleep. Much as I would love to ravish and be ravished, … I.. tonight...” He looks past Geralt at the window. He can feel mist in his eyes.  
He receives an amiable kiss to his cheek in return and then he’s being lifted, for the second time that night. He doesn’t protest. He trusts the man that’s holding him. He’s laid in the bed, and Geralt straddles him for a moment then roles to the side.  
Jaskier is pulled against him and the blankets are tossed over them. They lay there in silence again, watching the shadows dance in barely there light. 

“Will...” he feels Geralt shift uncomfortably, and breath out an unsteady breath.  
“Will you sing me a different one?” His voice is still rough, but it’s small in this moment.  
“A lullaby?”  
“Mmm.” The one that means affirmation.

Jaskier smiles, this is the most open and gentle the witcher has been with him. It’s not unwelcome. It is very different. He thinks a moment. 

“Do you know the Wanderer's lullaby?”

“No” It’s barely spoken. 

Jaskier hums softly against the witchers chest, then he starts singing softly to the night. 

“Wandering child of the Earth  
do you know just how much your worth  
you have walked this path since your birth  
you were destined for more  
there are those who'll tell you you're wrong  
they will try to silence your song  
but right here is where you belong  
so don't search anymore” 

Geralt 

He listens as the bard sings lightly against his chest. His heart beat as steady and melodic as the tune coming out of his mouth. He’s drifting with each puff of warm air against his chest. He knows this is dangerous. Vesemir had told him it would be, that it was better to be alone. After earlier events he knows just how dangerous it is to be fond of the man next to him. Yet, here they were, lying together in bed, revealing secrets about their past to one another. He glances absently over at the figurines, and listens more intently to the words Jaskier is speaking. He’s lost track of where the musician is in the song, but the lyrics are meaningful and he thinks Jaskier picked this one on purpose. 

“in your eyes there is doubt  
as you try to figure it out  
but that's not what life is about  
so have faith there's a way  
though the world may try to define you  
it can't take the light that's inside you  
so don't you dare try to hide  
let your fears fade away”

He lets out a small sound, he thinks it might be a ‘thank you’, he’s not sure. He knows it genuine and that’s all the matters. His eyes slide closed and,

“I love you too.”

It’s said hushed against the skin covering his heart. He sleeps soundly for the first time in nearly a century.


End file.
